A Messy, Beautiful Life

by Sara Jade Alan

  Except…

  As we crutch/walk from the theater after the show, across the quad and away from the crowd, Jason breaks our stunned silence by saying, “Wow. That was really, really…”

  “Terrible,” I finish for him.

  “Awful.” He throws his arms up.

  We start cracking up so hard I stop and brace myself with my crutches so I don’t fall over. When I get enough control over my breathing, I squeak out through waves of laughter, “They were just talking heads up there.”

  Jason clutches his stomach and says between snorts, “No characters…no movement…I think they were trying to get by on witty banter?”

  “But they forgot the witty part.”

  “It just went nowhere.” He starts imitating the mumbliest actor with his hands in his pockets, throwing out big words that don’t have a point.

  I stiffen and make robot noises, “Boo-bee-bop-boop,” because that’s what they sounded like to me. After going back and forth with our mumbler and robot impressions, we lose it in another fit.

  When the second fit fades, I start crutching back toward our dorms. “Are we being too mean? Were our expectations too high?”

  “Probably. But we’ve also seen a lot of improv, so we know. And I know that right now I don’t want to be part of that group.”

  “Maybe they had an off night,” I offer.

  “Maybe.”

  I stop on a little bridge over a pond to watch the moonlight reflecting on the water. “Maybe we start our own group.”

  Jason puts his hands gently on my shoulders and kisses the nape of my neck. “Definitely.”

  “We could incorporate video into our form somehow, like you were talking about.”

  “I love that idea. Your brain is my favorite,” he says, getting back to kissing my neck and making my limbs so weak I’m close to losing my grip on the crutch handles.

  My voice gets crackly as I try to persist with my inspiration. “We could name our group The Harrietts,” I say, thinking of my new pet goldfish. Harriett is smaller and spottier than Harold, but just as helpful. I promised her we’d all have great adventures together—though Harriett’s will be strictly from the safety of her bowl.

  I turn to face Jason, and he lifts me onto the broad rail of the bridge. “Yes, let’s,” he says, as my crutches clatter to the ground.

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  Acknowledgments

  I’ve been working on this book in one version or another for over a decade, and I would not be writing this without the help and support of everyone included here.

  I’m grateful to my phenomenal and dedicated editor, Candace Havens. Thank you for believing in this story, for pushing me to make it better, and for your humor and kindness along the way. (Insert all the deleted exclamation points here.) To the entire powerhouse team at Entangled: thank you for putting your creativity, savvy, and heart into this book, and for all your behind-the-scenes magic. I love being part of this visionary house.

  I’m grateful to my agent, Leon Husock. Thanks, too, to the other writers Leon represents who welcomed me into their secret hangout.

  Thank you to author Tamora Pierce. You’ve given me many gifts, the greatest being your example of what it is to be a young adult writer and the inspiration to become one myself.

  Thank you to everyone at Lighthouse Writers Workshop in Denver, particularly: Andrea Dupree and Mike Henry for cultivating this community; Lisa Jensen for introducing me to Lighthouse; Shana Kelly for your edits early on and your publishing advice when I needed it; and to all the students who took workshops with me. Also, big thanks to Sarah Ockler, for your guidance as my first young adult writing teacher and for being excited to read the final version.

  To Victoria Hanley: I’m so lucky I signed up for your young adult writing workshop all those years ago, and the one after that, and the one after that… Thank you a million times over for everything you’ve taught me, for your masterful editing, and most of all, for giving me faith in my writing and being my champion.

  Enormous thanks to my superstar critique partners, who are also my good friends. To Maura Weiler: for your always-insightful edits and suggestions and for leading the way as the first published author of our group. You are a badass. To Susan Knudten: for your faith, spot-on edits, willingness to wordsmith something (well and quickly) at every stage of this process, and for being there time and again to celebrate the good news and pull me through the disappointments. Also, for all the laughs and wigs with The Novelistas. Big love.

  Many thanks to my dear friends who read early versions of this manuscript and whose influences still live in the pages: Kate McFee, Megan Martin, Pam Farone, and Tricia McKinnon.

  To my friends, neighbors, and extended family who have cheered me on: thank you, and I love you. A special shout-out goes to Shannon McDaniel for the many chats during the rollercoaster to publication. Thanks also to Sarah Gilbert and everyone at RHR International for your flexibility and encouragement.

  I turned to my Facebook friends to brainstorm a few changes. To Chris Stock: thank you for the sketch inspiration and for making me feel like I already had a fan. Thank you to Jaime Hara Koch for suggesting Scared Scriptless and to Doug Reuter for giving me a cheesy cancer joke. How awesome is crowdsourcing writing? Thanks to all who offered suggestions.

  To everyone I’ve performed with over the years: thank you for the laughs and bits that have fueled me. Especially, and with bear hugs, to my first improv family: Andy MacDonald, Ben Reed, Brian McManus, Matt Love, Perry Daniel, and Tim Vierling, You gave me a way of life and inspiration for this book.

  Thank you to Judy, Rhonda, Tim, and the entire big, beautiful clan that I was lucky enough to marry into. I’m grateful for your support now and for how you were there for me like family even before it was official.

  All my love and gratitude goes to my immediate family. To Don Alan, thank you for being a way better dad than the one in this book, for giving me the gift of curiosity, and for teaching me to always keep reading and learning. To my mom, Evelyn Alan, thank you for your fierce love and unshakeable faith in me, for teaching me grit and perseverance, and for always, always being there for me. To my sister, Theresa Alan, my earliest champion in life and in art. It is so helpful to have a bestselling author in the family, especially one that shares the same sense of humor. I’m grateful for your infinite guidance, all the edits, and for teaching me that the upside of tragedy is that it can be transformed into art.

  To Emerson, my mighty and amazing daughter. Thank you for making my heart grow bigger. To Brian, my witness in life. Thank you for inspiring the words in Craig and Jason’s song from your poetry to me, for your boundless support in every way possible, and for this messy, beautiful life we’ve created together.

  Author’s Note

  While this story is Ellie’s, it is inspired by my own journey with chondrosarcoma. I was in my twenties when I was diagnosed, and my path to recovery included fewer disco balls and many more visits with surgeons. The people who helped me through that time in my life made it possible for me to write this book, and I would be remiss not to mention them here.

  I’m eternally grateful to my miracle surgeon, John Healey (could there be a better name for a doctor?), and everyone at Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center who cared for me.

  Thank you to Kim and John Smith for the gift of a consultation with Stritter Medical Consulting, and to Gwendolyn Stritter for working with me pro bono and guiding me through finding treatment for a rare cancer. I wish our healthcare system was such that everyone could have a medical advisor when they needed one.

  Thank you to Mary Sorens of ABC Survivors and Bruce and Beverly of the Liddy Shriver Sarcoma Initiative. Thank you to Elizabeth Moonrose of the Chondrosarcoma Support Care Community for answering my questions as a patient back then and later as a writer
researching the realities of a teen chondrosarcoma diagnosis. Any inaccuracies that remain are mine alone. On behalf of the community, thank you for your enduring compassion and contribution.

  Thank you to Peter and Deb Thomas for opening up your home to me, a generosity that still moves me today. Thank you to Yolanda Cruz for your steady kindness. I’m grateful to the entire McManus family for your support of every kind through it all. To Marian and Dick Bott: thank you for making it possible to get to Germany and back for a fifth opinion and for welcoming me in, giving me a home, and making sure I was cared for in New York. It was everything. Thank you to Jen Nails, Mignon Remé, Patricia Beck, Frau Strauss, and again to Susan (before we were even bosom friends), for offering support, connections, and places to stay in Düsseldorf and Münster. And to Bill Capron and Lizabeth Gottsegen for your healing magic. You all forever cemented my knowing that the world is more good and kind than not.

  To Team Brunch—Brian, Matt, Megan, Perry, and Tim: thank you for being by my side through it all, for holding me up, and for figuratively and literally catching me before I fell. And again to my mom: for taking a month off to care for me. I’m grateful we made it to the other side, together.

  Thank you to everyone who sent me prayers and good vibes. I felt the full power of your healing thoughts. There are many more people who helped me who I have not named (hard to imagine, but true), and I’m grateful to you all. Finally, to everyone who has faced cancer or cared for someone with it, my love goes out to you.

  About the Author

  Sara Jade Alan wrote her first comedy sketch during second-grade recess, then cast it, directed it, and made costumes out of garbage bags. Since then, she has performed in over a thousand improvised and scripted shows all over the country. Currently she is one-half of the comedy duo, The Novelistas, who perform about writing and teach performance to writers. Originally from a suburb of Chicago, Sara now lives in Colorado with her husband and daughter.

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